bird

move along dear friend. push, pull but do not tug.
i shall become a bird, you will find me by your window.
i will fly when you come near but sing when you are calm.
are you calm, are you still.

whistling

there is something about whistling that speaks to me. i can not whistle and even when i say
i can what i really am saying is i inhale and make a funny sound. When i hear you whistle, for just a split of a second i freeze, nervous stillness but then i relax and listen and even ask for more. more whistling please that is what i need more whistling, more of you whisling.

mirror and memories

the morning came and i drove through thick fog then a clearing. there comes a time in the spring when the color of the buds on the tree resembles the fall. a time when the past is mirrored in the present. my mind traveled back as well
clouds moved fast- i was moving fast in and out of memories like tip toes to water.

eyes at night.

my eyes grow heavy yet it is barely night. tears have not come as i thought they might.
life has changed many times over, sharp egdes and hard turns. mixed emotion have me confused
i wonder if i am swiming or drowning. sounds come out but words are not understood. my eyes grow
heavy, heavy and now i say goodnight.

the last station

last evening i went to the cinema with k. and a friend. we went to see the last station a story of Tolstoy's last days. as we sat in the theater and the screen turned dark the words of tolstoy emerged, i had to hold back my tears not to frighten the people around me for the movie had barely begun. i have been in love with tolstoy forever now, whether it has been something that he has written or what was written about him. i understand the struggle within him, yet i am unable to use my own words to explain how much he moves me.

ten minutes into the movie a young man who has been hired to be his secretary sits on the couch that tolsoy was born on and every member before and after of his family. tolstoy asks the young man about his own work, his family- when the man burst into tears overjoyed and in disbelief of tolstoy kindness towards him a "mere nobody". i knew exactly what that man was feeling for it was what i had felt a few minutes before, in awe that i was reading his words and seeing his life played out before me.

a finger grip to a dream

the rain has fallen for three days straight. i have had so many thoughts come and then get washed away.
i almost did the unthinkable, well the unthinkable for me- i almost let a dream fall. i was ready to take an eraser
to my soul, carve it out the dream i carried for so long in my heart. well you see the dream laid dormant, i felt like i no longer walked towards it so i was going to let it go, then i realized that i had confused the stillness of everyday life with not wanting it anymore. i want it so much and i feel as if i should apologize to this dream for it has been a companion since i was very young i, nadia was going to make it disappear without any trace of it ever being there. then like something out of a movie an email came that said this is the way to hold on to your dream- no,it said this is away to carry out your dream.

now the snow dances out my window and a red cardinal calls me out to play

melancholy

melancholy no longer sits on my skin but has set into my flesh.
i have said goodbye to many times. my arms have grown tired
as they wait with open arms to welcome someone new. i have said goodbye too many times
my arms are tired, my throat is raw from singing children's songs. i have opened the treasure chest filled with
little clothes and shoes for little toes one too many times.

melancholy has passed my skin and now my flesh and has found away into my soul..

why is that you have forsaken me this...why

glow

a throat ache and a muffled head, i find myself curled up on the chaise my
face towards the sun. all these years so many more hours than anyone and yet i have never napped
my eyes feel heavy and the sun is caressing my headache and as my eyes close gently, i am in heaven
for the glow in my mind surely must come close.

the tea party -really! sarah palin???

tiny sandwiches for tiny minds!

i love my husband
i love hearing him laugh
i love my husband

in the snow

i feel so alive when snow covers the ground and flakes fall and get caught in my hat i can easily lay on the ground and play out childhood memories. I can wear my black cashmere coat and tall boots and fancy gloves and dream of paris, but for today i will put my wool sweater and play fetch with sophie and grace.

thoughts

i can feel the temperature change. the warm air that blew around here just yesterday is gone. even with the sun piercing through my bones i already feel the cold. i have had all sort of thoughts sometimes it is as if they are not me, mine, but a person i lhave trouble understanding. todays thoughts were hard, i though about how i wish i could paint how even though i sing to myself, i could never really sing to anyone else, i thought about how i know how to make love but not a baby
i though about such things. i feel cold, i have felt cold all winter long. i have felt the coldness of the man that owns the farm, coldness from racist politicians and realtors. the sun watches me as i write this for it makes the keys glow, can you come in i ask it, can you come closer.

the wind

the air is warm, the wind blows with such strength, the rain allows you to stay dry only for a minute, seconds really.
i travel with it at least my heart does and perhaps my mind..

tangerines

behind me i hear the sound of the faucet drip, drip , drip
i tried to fix it but it still drips. on the table is a bowl tangerines, maybe
there is twenty or just twelve. through the window the grass is now visible
and green makes you believe change is coming. the sun comes out from behind grey sheets and tiny snow flakes that will probably never reach the ground dance. i am sitting wanting to know more as i reach for the dial of the radio.

snowflake and sound

i sit at my chair by the window but i am far, far away. the music that played transported me to a place and time that is not here and not now. every once a while i come back and stare out the window as large snowflakes fall from the sky and reach the bottom. was that their destination all along i wonder, is that where the snow flake really wants to go. just like that i am not in my kitchen but on the other side. the only thing i can feel is my lips they are cracked as i float in the land of memories. up above my body against the grey clouds looking down i see that the snow is dancing, it hears it too, the melody and the tone of the voice that sings me home.

today i look out

the way the sun hits the chair
the way the house is filled with your scent, my dear tree
the way your snow pants keep me warm and how funny your boots look on my feet
the bright light that comes from the snow glistening snow
the sounds they all make when i open the barn door, good morning dear folks
the shivers i get as the wind finds an opening through the house, burrr
the way i promise myself to get some sleep, but all the things that keep me awake
the icicles that are pointing down, that remind me of edward scissor hands
the music that plays and has my hips sway

meltdown

i am having a meltdown. a mixture of anxiety and fear. i am trying to be myself through this holiday season.
see we do not spend hours in line at the mall anymore but understand the ones that do. we gather things from the forest to decorate our home with. we bookmark recipes that we must try and have chats by the fire about what we hope christmas would be. we dream of both sides of the family joining us here for a day at the farm with sleigh rides, good food, warm fire and maybe if weather allows it snow angels and men. not everyone feels that such things are enough- but why i wonder, why can't we just have moments uncluttered by things, ones that may just out live the things, why can't we just give the gift that can not be bought!(cliche maybe)

oh maybe i melting down because i have not been outside in three hours( to long for me) i should go now clear my head.

* update, the walk did the world of good, nature is magical she reminds of how lucky i am everyday.

moments

sometimes my heart beats faster than usual when my eyes deceive me and i see you in my in box sometimes tears mix with my smiling lips when i hear the piano played so wonderfully.
sometimes life is just right, so where it has to be that i feel happy, young, like a girl learning it all again. sometimes i steal moments of bliss , afternoons, nights as i put those thoughts to rest i sometimes think my eyelids have been kissed!

dear mike

i have been whispering this to you everyday. it is all i think about. i am so sorry for the discomfort i have caused. it is not tolsoy fault. you see we did not do it right, i did not listen to my gut but instead to people with big egos who did not do it the right way but instead they did it their way. I know i am taking care of you but i know you liked it the way it was and all though it will never be exactly the same it will be good again very soon.

you see tolstoy was in a line and was going to be slaughtered. he was in line to be a piece of meat on someones plate for someone in a foreign land, ones that are not foreign to me canada and japan two places i have loved dearly but i can not understand at this time. so you see he was in line being sold to the highest bidder "the meat guy" but he was saved because someone stopped it put their hand in their pocket pulled out a few dollars and saved him. he is here now, and i know it was shocking but it was not his fault, and i have been fighting to keep him here, he is loving and gentle but scared like you. it was not his fault but mine for not speaking up. mike everyday, three times a day i find you and clarabelle you come to me with so much love even though you have been banned by the pecking order (tolstoy) you come to me and i see how grateful you are and it touches me so.

at dusk today the air was so calm and warm. the sky was doing it's thing and you came to me and gave more love that i could have ever imagine possible from an animal (and most humans) and i cried all the way back to the house how is it that i have disrubt your life and yet you still take care of me...

dark

if only my heart would purge some of what took place. even writing now i fear that it will hear my relief and quickly inhale me back into what seemed as the darkest of hours( two weeks really). i will say no more yes i still fear it, still do not believe it is over. i am a deer standing still in the headlights and making a run for it in the dark.

how is it that we are giving sarah palin
even more than the fifteen minutes of fame she has already stolen??

maybe it's just me..

cold, the sun comes and i am warmed

falling rain

i heard it faintly in the wind, the way you used say my name. have you whispered it lately. i shall believe not, for once i was called fickle i protested not, even though it hurt the very core of me when you said it for at that moment you knew me not. I now understand the little pieces that come to me when-you spoke to me it was as if you were speaking to yourself, for dear man you are fickle, my mistake is that there was no face to my love just one that was made out trees, falling rain and birds that sang beautifully, i have not lost those things, they exist always in me, for me, never ending is the chapter that i wrote with my pen and invisible ink..

a pot

as i write i stare unto the pastures lined with trees of every color. at times the wind plays making the leaves look like falling snow flakes. meringues bake in the oven and the rays of sun are piercing through the kitchen window. so why am i feeling like i might boil over

calling out

it is the rain that brings me home to that place deep within me. it is easy to think of the past with a mixture of sadness, it only take a minute to stir emotions that for a long time laid dormant. it is strange when everything outside slowly begins to die and ready itself for the stillness of winter, my heart decides to beat harder as if calling out to me, i am here, i am here, i am here.

sleep

so my eyes barely close. my eyelashes never travel down. i am sleepy.
ask me how long it has been and i would say something like eternity.

quiet night

this morning you were loud, you stole the moment from me. when i am walking our long drive way in the darkest of nights, be kind enough to keep the light on for me. we have been in our new home for two weeks now, how is it that you do not know what door to lock does it not feel like home to you.., i am cranky- perhaps because you stole the quiet moment under the stars...or perhaps because you will not be coming home tonight, again.

loving this

change

the changes have come quickly as if i am looking through the window of a passing train.
so much has changed. i am afraid that it is not here to stay. please let it stay.

crime and punishment

i have been reading crime and punishement. it is dark and cold and everynight i am left with the same
feeling. do i have to finish it? how did i make through it once before? why is he so familiar to me. oh
how i hate a great bad, bad book trully do i have to finish it?

a long stare

he was afraid to call out her name . he stood at the gate as she picked up the falling branches. he remembered everything about her now and he begun to shake he put his hand on the gate to steady himself. she noticed him their and slowly walked further away from where he was. she whispered his name and followed it with never again. there was someone new now, he could never come close to the kindness of this man. he had not been replaced but forgotten as he had hoped to be and if that was not the case every action proved other wise. she was surprised by her strength and how all the work had not failed her now she even paused to remember one moment of bliss but nothing came she had exchanged every happy memory for ten of the bad ones she had done a good job infact she had secretly thanked him for his cowardliness and for her own child stupidity. he knew now that she had seen him, he was sure that she would walk to him but soon he realized that it was best if he never came to her again something he had failed over and over again never being able to put her first and even though she had changed and did not even look the same for she had aged in such a short period of time covered her thin frame with more flesh then had been before.. he took one last stare but he cold not see her as she was but as she had been that day through the window. she did not look back again as she walked into the house.

the reader abandonned

there i was deep into the night my-living room feeling large like an armory, they left me. harry, penelope, charlotte they went off and lived happily ever after and did not turn around to see if i wanted to come along. It is as it always was for me and i am sure for many of you a time where you are coming close to the end of a book where you start to feel sad, not sad for the characters but for yourself somehow they invited you into their lives without objection. you smelled their cigarette as they lit it, you admired there dress you even swear you could taste the scone they where about to devour. you also cry for them and try to warn them. even when the book is put down you still think about them and can't wait to get back to them and you do. the end of the book always seems like the beginning of there lives without you in it...

the river

it took along time to get back to it. before we had even turned the ignition on in providence i was already on the kenebec. as we traveled down the turnpikes and the kids giggled in the back i knew that i was drifting. I had waited, wanted it, for far too long now. the scene played in front of me during bad days like a carrot and now i knew i would catch up to it.

we pulled in and i could barely wait for the car to stop, i was out. i hardly noticed the darkness. i pulled the tent out of it's bag and set it up at records pace, i heard nothing saw no one thought of nothing except what i came here to do. before i knew it i started to take off my clothes and as they fell onto the rocks, the kids and my husband stood in amazement "what are you doing" i heard someone say but i could not even take a moment to answer. i walked towards the moonlit river walked without hesitating till i was completely emerged, it was cold just as i imagined it. just how i needed it to be..

forward

i can not believe i am doing this again
memories from the last time seem as if only yesterday
there is evidence of the last time everywhere i look

can this be happining again, i guess so.

when

when sadness knocks on the door loudly, i turn on the music that played when i was happy. when sadness wants to take me out, i put on the prettiest dress and my big bad boots. when sadness wants to run me under the covers i bring a good book.

one long breath( opera)

can i tell you about the opera and how it makes me feel. can i do my emotions justice when i tell you how much i am inspired, inspired- what does that mean? to do what i wonder, because as the very first note is released into the air, i feel as if shall never leave the theater, that right here in this chair i shall take my very last exhale.but before i do my heart will take me around the room and into the stories of my own life i will dive in and i will cry. as she speaks to him in one long breath a hundred faces will come to me. and just when i think i can bare no more of her agony her voice will turn towards the sky and it will remain hanging in heavy air until someone terrified of what they have felt disturbs the perfect dark silence with an applause and then another.

memories..

...slowly she begins to live in the past. the funny thing about that is that she was not able to remember most of her childhood, except for small things. the color of her swimsuits, the taste of tiger tale ice cream, the caterpillars she would collect while riding her bike, the boy with the fish tank full of little frogs that she felt the need to liberate those where good things. once and a while a small rush of bad things would come to her, she would face them head on for a minute or two then feeling her fist fill with anger she would shut the door tight shaking her head as if she was trying to have those memories fall out of her, . slowly she found herself lingering in certain memories, she was reliving the ones from the last few years more than any other but this time she toke out all the painful moments and replaced them with all the what ifs she had gathered through out the years.

ted hughes

surely there has been a mistake. i am not from now.
but from then, a time when we introduced ourselves with our full names.
where we rode our bikes to our destination with ease. a time when he said “hello” and it’s weight alone would send you floating for days, nights and days again. where we danced because that is the only way we could touch, so we danced a lot. my memories of such time are not mine, they are borrowed from those who where there then and then was their now. a time where you could hear the screen door snap back as you ran out the house with your lips tainted raspberry.

i would have not married ted hughes, but would have surely been smitten and would have held on to his words till they fell into the library sink. yes, i could feel you trying to interrupt me while you read this. you wish to tell me that not all those times i would have liked and i understand. i thought about it as this came to me this evening and i know with that which is good comes things that are bad but i asked myself, what bad would i have taken for those memories to belong to me, to be mine, to have had the raspberry wiped from my lips by his mouth..

how can that be answered truthfully.

reflection

taking a walk in my minds path. stumbling.

hardly at all.

do i think about it. i think about it.
a little. just a little. only sometimes. very little.

most of the time i just remember that somehow i could see
myself in away i had never before. my smile i think about my smile. smiling.
i could feel it deep within my cheeks sent from my heart to my lips.
but like i said, very little. hardly at all. sometimes i think about the rain and thunderstorms. most of time i remember the pain. so much of it that if my job was to shovel it i still be digging out of the dirt. wait i am. like i said just a little. very little.

i remember i though i was pretty. but just a little, hardly at all. i remember the happier i was the paler i became. thinner. but only sometimes. i remember the conversion machine that existed within me. you said pretty things and i converted them to what they really were. little. only all the time well except when the machine started to slow down, then i held on to those words that meant very little. then they became big. BIG and BLINDING. but it all meant very little. so you see hardly at all. never really. only sometimes.

old

he knelt down and took her hands in his,. he could not stop the tears no matter how hard he tried, she weeped. she could not help but think how did this happen, how did he not grow old along side of her. he desperately tried to make her pain go away, he
put his lips to her ear and sang to her down by the bay as he rocked her back and forth. slowly her lips stopped quivering. his shirt drenched by her tears now, he laid her down and continued to sing to her till her eyes closed till and her hands tightened around his..

the lump in my throat grows bigger with every letter
i press on the keyboard. the world wants to change, it is crying out
and some people can only try to stop it with violence, blood and egos
i wish i could scoop out the ego within these men who get validation
in surpressing the growth and needs of others.

woman without a face

i think i am not good at it. i try. but it is hard. would it be okay if i was the woman without a face. would you mind terrible if i surrender to failure. i don't think there is much happiness that will come from knowing me. ask the others the ones who turned away. I am writing this and if you think i am sad, no, no i am not. there is something that comes from knowing my weaknesses and my worth in this world, knowing it make's it better then pretending that i weigh more than i do. wait i do weigh more than i think i do, so while i become the woman with no face is okay if you take my body too.

ugly ego

i want to hold the rain in my hand. i want it to not melt away and run down my arm. I want to kick a pudlle and i want it it hit something, someone- yes i have said it. egos are so big that the one's that hold on to them above there shoulders do not know what a mess they make.

no better than her or him you can not take your words and make them weigh a thousand pounds and believe that you will not crush anyone one with them. I wish i spoke a foreigh tongue of witches so i can lay a curse upon you, not one to destroy you you have done that yourself but one to build you into a better human being or just human. wait i know you walk around thinking that you are already there that is what troubles me and those who know you.

notes drift me away

i am listening to it- the music. i am getting lost in it's notes, going too far. It is playing for me and i am wanting it's waves to carry me away. I love the piano. love it so much i am afraid i will pull out the anchor and drift. I know now that i am scared. scared of both outcomes so i stay there on the dock that sways slightly from side to side- that is all i can afford to risk.

math

the other day while you were gone, sadness and fear came over me. a thought moved me to tears. i swirled that thought between my lips, trying carefully not to swallow. everyday i am near you is a day closer to being without you. is that true i wondered, i tried to look at it closer. a math equation. i stood up and sat back down. i dried tears as they fell. this is wrong i said to myself. why does it feel so sad i asked. why does it feel so sad.

the envelop

as she reached her hand in the mail box and pulled the envelops out, there it was she was sure of it. she entered back into the house and laid the bundle on the table. she ran upstairs, made the bed and put away her clothes. she was running, ignoring. she came back down and as she passed it she could feel it call out to her and just then she called out to the dogs " let's go out". she lingered and strolled but she could not slip away from what she knew was waiting for her inside. she opened the door once more and unleashed the dogs, she ran her hands under the water bringing her cold wet hands to her face, she let the towel fall to the ground. it felt as if she was counting the steps to the letter. she picked it up, examined it closely then ripped the envelop. there it was laid out in graphing detail what she would be experiencing, charts, pictures, it was to be more difficult than she thought. no where on those pages was it written how she would feel, how if her heart was to be broken how long would it take to mend, could it mend? would it mend? she place the pamphlet back into the envelop and walked to the table, this time she opened the drawer and place it inside as she whispered to herself "monday i shall know what i might not wish to know".

the train took her

i wonder sometimes when i lost her? as if that day my eyes were filled with tears that i became blind to what direction the train took her. I hardly remember anything about her. the clothes that hang all over the house don't even trigger the faintest of memories . she is gone. in my attempt to make her stronger i scared away. sometimes i think i hear her, in a passing giggle or a sigh but no nothing, for she was silenced by my naive ways.

Sometimes it feels like i am following her but how could that be i left her behind, kicked up dirt in her face. confused she sat on that train and now the train is gone and no one is looking for her, not even me.

family

my family. ours. this is a happy sight.
this is okay by me. this is who i live for.
and that is where my bliss comes from.

i am big in the city

but somehow while tenting on the ocean are walking up the mountain i do not think about it. my lungs fill themselves so much with clean air, my skin constantly exposed to the elements, my toes wet with sand i forget how much i weight. Perhaps it is the fact that there is no roof, no car to tell me how much space i take, that somehow i believe i am not that bad. average. Perhaps it is the casualness of a wardrobe how you end up living in it for a few days that it becomes skin, nothing tight or rough and confining. in the city everything is different for me. i remember, do you remember dear friend? the fancy shoes and dresses, the jeans with the simplest of white shirts. I am no longer comfortable in my own skin. i learning to like what is on the inside, but the outside not so much.